The Secret Life of Barack Obama – Part 6

Reporter: With all the criticism your administration has been receiving regarding what amounts to an NSA data mining operation targeting citizens, are you planning on changing the NSA surveillance policies?

Obama: Let me be perfectly clear.  It is important that we maintain this level of surveillance in order to protect ourselves from threats.  I can assure you that you can trust us with this sensitive information.

Reporter: What would you say to those who claim it seems a bit too much like Big Brother is watching?  And can you be specific about what threats?

Obama (watching telescreens showing the communal prole women’s showers and speaking into intercom): Threats from Eurasia and Eastasia, of course.  Now don’t bother me again.  I’m busy surveilling (returns to watching the prole women’s showers).

Biden (entering): Hey, Big Brother.

Obama (Big Brother): Hey Little Brother. You know, after putting Michelle in charge of the Ministry of Plenty, spying on the citizenry is much more pleasant.  Those forced starvation rations based on her school lunch guidelines are working wonders.  No more fatties.  But, hey, what’s up?

Biden: Can’t you notice?  I just got back from the Ministry of Death for my annual preventative medical exam.  Can you see what has changed?  (posing jauntily)

Obama: How could I miss it?

Biden: Don’t you love it? After being on the waiting list for almost 8 months, I finally got my whisker plugs.  Now I have a mustache as full and luxurious as yours.

Obama: Have you seen it yet?  You may want to check a mirror.

Biden: What the……?

Obama: No stache at all. But those are some mighty fine handlebar eyebrows you are sporting now, though. (starts stroking Joe’s eyebrows) Feels kind of coarse and crinkly.  And is that Speedstick?  I think they may have gotten the transplant from your pits. You might not want that particular hair right under your sniffer, anyway.

Biden: I thought it felt wrong somehow.  Ooooooo. I feel a two minute hate coming on.

Hillary (enters): Trivia question. You know the origins of that two minute hate, don’t you?

Biden: Uh, no.

Hillary: We had to go with the lowest common denominator.  It takes you that long to count to ten and cool off.

Biden (sarcastically): Ha, ha, ha. And that is a two minute hate on you too.  A two minute hate on both of you.

Pelosi: And you look hideous.  Let me guess. Dr. Nick screwed up a procedure again.

Obama: Yeah, the Ministry of Death has had its fair share of mix ups after we put Dr. Nick Riviera in charge.  His late night advertisements looked so promising, too.  I thought he would bring his brand of high quality care and bargain basement prices to government healthcare. I guess you get what you don’t pay for.

Biden: He’s still running things better than Sibelius.

Obama: Totally.

Biden: I’m still pretty cheesed about this mustache mix up.  I do look hideous.  The Ministry of Praise is gonna hear about this.

Obama: No, no, no.  Stay away from the Ministry of Praise.  They’ll just send you to the Ministry of Love’s GITMO facility and you’ll never get your mustache that way.  A lot of Room 101s down there.  But not to worry.  You’re not a prole.  In a couple of months you can get that mix up fixed up.  It’s just business as usual.  We can’t expect perfection in the system, even when you know as much as I do.  Remember a couple of years ago when Michelle ‘encouraged’ people to lose weight by ‘voluntarily’ following her ration plan?  Well, about that time the Ministry of Death reported a sharp decline in liposuction procedures. Makes sense, right.  But then what happened?  At about that same time, the Ministry of Plenty began complaining about shortages in cooking fat.  Who knew liposuction and cooking fat supplies were related?  Who would have guessed it?  Who knew that was where prole cooking fat came from? Central planning is hard. But what brings you here, Hillary?  We already had the Ministry of Truth write things up making you the hero of Benghazi.  What more do you want?

Hillary: Oh, I caught Bill with another intern, so I placed an anonymous tip accusing him of thoughtcrimes.  He’s in room 101 now.  I was hoping you could pull it up on the telescreen so I could watch.

Obama: Oh, of course.  Of course.  Wouldn’t miss it.  Here we go.

Telescreen changes to show Bill strapped to a chair nude in room 101.

Interrogator: What does 2 + 2 = 4?

Joe (yelling at telescreen): I know. I know. 5! 5! 5!

Obama: Good job, Little Brother.

Bill: 4. It equals 4.

Interrogator: I guess it will come to this after all.  Bring in the boxers.

Assistants cart in a pair of wire, mesh boxers with a cage at the front full of hungry rats.

Interrogator: You asked me before, Bill, what was in room 101. You already knew.  Everyone does.  Room 101 contains the worst thing in the world.  It goes beyond fear or pain or death.  It is unendurable.  And it varies from individual to individual.  It may be being buried alive.  Or castration or a great many other things.  In your case, it is castration by rats.

Bill: No!

Hillary: Yes! Yes! Yes!

Bill: No. Please.  What is it you want me to do?

Interrogator: You know what is required of you.

Bill: How can I do it if I don’t know what it is?

Interrogator: In the proletarian areas, they will attack a baby and within five minutes strip it to the bone.  They attack the sick and dying.  They show astonishing intelligence in knowing when a human being is helpless.

Bill: Please.

Interrogator: The boxers fit over your crotch, leaving no exit.  I press the first lever, and the rats move into the front compartment.  I press the second and the door to the cage will slide up.  The starving brutes will shoot at you like bullets.  Have you ever seen a rat leap through the air? They will leap onto your crotch and eat right into it.  I will leave the details to your imagination.

Bill: Please tell me.  What do you want?

Interrogator (pulls first lever)

Bill: Do it to her.

Interrogator: To the intern?

Bill: No, no, no.  Not the intern.  She’s hot.  No.  Do it to Hillary.  No one likes her.  No one will miss her.  Do it to her. Then we will all be happy.  That is what you must want.

Hillary: Oh, you bastard!  Let me at him!

Bill: Please.  Please.  Do it to her.  Do it to her. Do it to Hillary.  That is what we all want.  Please.  Please.

Reporter: Please, Mr. President.  One follow up question.

Obama: I will field no further questions at this time.  Good afternoon.

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